


One Short Walk

by SouthernLynxx



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Chapter 3: Clemens Point (Red Dead Redemption 2), Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Swearing, Tags Contain Spoilers, secondary character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27655418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernLynxx/pseuds/SouthernLynxx
Summary: He was like an annoying little brother to me…What fun we had riding together.What a goddamn mess we’re making of things.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	One Short Walk

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So I'm new to writing RDR fanfiction (Just finished RDR2) and wanted to test the waters with one of the first ideas that hit me upon playing Chapter 3 before everything went to hell. This was largely a practice run for characterisation and voices, so I hope they ring true. ConCrit is welcome (:
> 
> Title taken from the mission prior to this rewritten scene, and references from Arthur's journal entry on those Sean feels.

_He was like an annoying little brother to me…_

_What fun we had riding together._

_What a goddamn mess we’re making of things._

_\---_

The pencil hovered over the page as Arthur’s thoughts trailed off, the lead tip soft and blunt with use. He hesitated to finalise his latest entry, to conclude the whole damn thing. It didn’t feel right. It felt like he had more to say.

Heaving a sigh, Arthur lifted his gaze, looking beneath the brim of his hat to the rolling fields stretched out before him, dotted with trees which framed the distant mountains of West Elizabeth. It was serene, with the sun peeking through the otherwise overcast skies and bringing with it a late summer heat. 

He’d just glanced down at his journal again when he heard the scratchy rustle of undergrowth as someone emerged from the trees behind him, likely from their latest camp at Clemen’s Point.

“Writin’ ‘bout Sean?”

The hoarse voice was distinct and not entirely unwelcome, so Arthur merely rumbled a noncommittal sound as John stepped into his peripheral. The younger man took the sound as confirmation, alongside an invitation to stay as he leant his forearms onto the aged and crumbling stone wall Arthur leant back against. 

There was a stretch of silence in which Arthur rolled the pencil stub between his fingers and John pretended to look at the landscape, but the silence was heavy with the loss, the chaos, and the bitter smell of gunsmoke steadily bleeding out of the town of Rhodes not three hundred yards away.

“Didn’t think you cared much for him, the ‘mount of times you complained about the gobby little bastard.”

Arthur snorted. 

“Bullshit,” he muttered, not looking up from his journal though he wasn’t quite seeing the words anymore. He knew no one had ever been fooled by his gruff and sometimes contemptuous handling of the Irishman, least of all Sean, and especially not John. For all that Arthur called him a fool, he was sharp, perceptive to those around him in ways he wasn’t given credit for. 

In that moment, Arthur finally acknowledged the tension in his chest, something small and tight and unwanted, but sadly familiar all the same. 

“He was like a brother,” he muttered, almost under his breath, like it was a confession he didn’t mean to share, or uncertain if he should. “He was like a little brother to me, and I didn’t even know how fond I was of him until...well, until his brains got blown out all over the street.”

John dropped his head, his long dark hair falling forward and obscuring his face as he nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur shrugged a shoulder with a grunt, feeling like he’d already said too much. Exposed too much. 

He shifted slightly to accommodate the swing of John’s legs as the younger man seated himself on top of the wall, legs dangling and heels brushing the weather-worn stone. 

“Didn’t even know I had competition for the title of favourite brother,” John offered, a gentle probe to gauge Arthur’s mood with his expression giving so little away. 

“You ain’t my brother, Marston, and you ain’t been for a long while.” 

John hm’d, reminiscent of the same non-commital sound Arthur had made, and it wasn’t lost on the older outlaw. 

“I swear, I’ve had enough of this southern family shit without you adding to it.”

John choked out a noise caught between a scoff and a bark of disgust, and the genuine surprise behind the sound was enough to entice a tug at the corners of Arthur’s mouth. He barely tamped down the smirk in time, but it felt like the first time in a long while since he’d felt the urge to smile. Perhaps the first time since they’d thought to insert themselves in the middle of a family feud already steeped in a hundred years of blood.

“You’re a sick bastard, Morgan,” John muttered, his own smirk even more prominent. They held each other's gaze for a moment, teasing giving way to contemplation, until John, considerate of rejection, slowly leant in. Arthur tilted his head up without hesitation and readily received the kiss, their hat brims bumping as their lips met. 

It was rare for such a tender exchange, but their lips brushed lightly and they shared one warm lingering breath before parting again, as if the fleeting show of affection had never taken place. 

Straightening back up, John peered over Arthur’s shoulder as the elder outlaw looked back down at his journal.

“I suppose that’s that then,” Arthur breathed, pressing his pencil into the page to bring finality to his last thought. He then closed the journal, and with it the chapter of his family that included a scruffy Irish bastard who reasoned like a badger clubbed with a rock and shot with the finesse of one too. 

Their young wildcard who had been struck down in the dust of a pisswater town without even glimpsing his killer, let alone given the decency to look him in the eye and draw his gun to go down in a blaze of glory, if such a thing existed. 

He would really miss the kid.

“Me too,” John agreed quietly, and Arthur blew out one last gusty breath. 

They waited quietly together, taking solace in each other’s company as they watched the wind roll through the long grass and the deers graze on the knolls. 

In a single moment of rare and uninterrupted peace, they waited for their luck to turn.

**Author's Note:**

> Legit tho, I loved Sean and even though I knew it was coming (because I can't seem to avoid spoilers for the life of me) I had to pause the game and just... 凸( •̀_•́ )凸


End file.
